Wanting to Live Again
by fantasdancer
Summary: In the original Movie Jack had just lost Charlie and was suicidal. What was it that made him want to live again?


Jack was only semi-conscious when he was dropped through the open grating into the water twelve feet below. He woke up fast then – especially when hands reached out and grabbed him.

It took him a moment to realise that it was Kowalski. He nearly punched the man out. Above them, one of the guards pulled the grating closed and sneered down at them before walking away.

Jack was still dazed, feeling a tightness in his gut and registering pain everywhere. He only half heard Kowalski talking to him, and didn't even remember what Kowalski had been saying until he got to the last two words:

'Where's Jackson?'

Jack felt as if he had been punched in the gut then. He peered back at Kowalski with a stricken gaze while his brain went on rewind and he remembered … everything.

_**Flash**_

A father should never outlive his own child.

He sat on Charlie's bed gazing sightlessly at Charlie's things and his photos and he stroked the hand gun. Jack wanted to do it. He wanted to die so badly. He wasn't afraid of death. He had seen it too often to be afraid of it, and now he wanted it - craved it - over the overwhelming guilt and agony of loss that he felt.

He'd finally gotten his mind to wrap around what had happened. This wasn't a dream or a nightmare. This wasn't something he could wake up from and find that it wasn't true. He had failed as a father and now Charlie was dead. His only son had shot himself with the same weapon that he now held in his hands. Charlie was gone. The best thing that had ever happened in his life was gone and Jack wanted to follow him.

A father should _never_ outlive his own child.

But there was one thing holding him back from pulling the trigger and that was Sara. Charlie's mom. Even though they'd drifted apart, he couldn't do it to her. As worthless as he felt himself to be, he couldn't kill himself and leave her grieving for him as well as for Charlie. She'd lose the house if he suicided. There wouldn't be enough money. She'd lose Charlie's home and the memories attached to the house that seemed to be all that was holding her together through the loss of their son.

She needed to be here – at Charlie's home. He couldn't do it for Sara's sake. It was as simple as that. He gazed at the baseball photo of his son and more than anything in the world he wanted to be with Charlie again. But … how … .

A knock on Charlie's door pulled him from his thoughts. Jack slipped on the safety and slid the weapon under a pillow just before the door was pushed open.

'Excuse me, Colonel O'Neill. We're from General West's office. Sir, we're here to inform you that you've been reactivated.'

Jack's eyes flickered towards the door. It was surreal that the answer to his problem had presented itself just as he needed it. He'd die on a mission. Sara half expected him to die every time he went on a mission anyway. It was the nature of his job. But if he died on the job she'd get enough money as well as a pension to keep the house.

And he'd get his death wish. Perfect.

_**Flash**_

Jack pushed aside the last of six military personnel files with a relieved sigh and opened the last file marked "civilian consultant." Thankfully this last file was thin. Jack settled back more comfortably in his seat and tried to feel more interested than he had been. Reviewing personnel files prior to missions was standard procedure. The interviews he had with his proposed team told him a lot more than the files usually did. It always paid to know just who you had watching your back. The fact that he didn't much give a damn whom the hell had his back for this mission was something he had to keep to himself – especially considering how perceptive General West could be.

Jack was following form to the letter. He reigned himself in tight and did the 'full and correct Colonel' act with formal speech, proper haircut, proper uniform. He was polite to those he needed to be polite to, punctual for everything, and had all the paperwork completed properly and on time. It was _so_ not his usual style, but one that he had to use to get placed on the kind of high risk mission that he needed to be on.

He played the badass Colonel to the lower ranks hoping none of them – not even Kowalski - would try to get under his façade and see the truth about his state of mind. He even forced himself to get almost adequate sleep. All to keep anyone - especially West, from guessing. All to keep himself on track for the high risk mission he wanted.

And that meant he did pre mission personnel assessments – though he really just wanted to get there, send the team back and blow himself to kingdom come.

Jack blinked wearily and concentrated on the file. There wasn't much in Daniel Jackson's file – not much at all. The file photo was old – probably from his university days and showed a thin faced, wide eyed kid with messy hair that abruptly reminded him of Charlie. Jack flinched a little. He'd been busy these last few days. So busy that for short moments he could forget Charlie and the pain, as he learned of ancient artefacts and possibilities that were so mind bogglingly _unbelievable_ that they shocked him out of himself a little - enough to function properly anyway; enough to stop himself from going nuts. Jack bent his head and concentrated on Jackson's file with renewed determination.

Date of Birth July 8th 1965 – and already there were question marks beside that one. The footnote said that he had had been born in Egypt but that there were some problems with a lost birth certificate due to the hospital records office having burned down. There were conflicting sources of hastily scrawled information regarding Jackson's birth date. So - maybe born '65 or a few years later. Jack sighed impatiently.

Jackson was a Doctor no less. He had Phd's in Archaeology and Linguistics. Jack did a surprised double take at the IQ rating for the man. _Way_ smart then. Genius smart. He soaked up languages like some people soaked up beer. Jack remembered his first look at the kid as he'd confidently corrected an ancient Egyptian translation on a blackboard without having to look up books or references of any kind. He'd simply … translated it. _Ancient_ Egyptian, like it was basic high school French or something. Then the kid solved the rest of the Stargate puzzle in under two weeks while missing half the intel that all of the other scientists had had to work with. He shouldn't be all that surprised by the kids IQ rating.

Jack scanned further into the file looking for things that would give him some insight into the guy he'd be taking with his team through the Stargate to another world. If he didn't care too much about his own back he still needed to know if the kid was capable enough to watch the backs of the rest of the team. But the file only had basic intel. The stuff you'd expect to find about a four eyed geek with too many smarts for his own good. His teachers had all been impressed with him and described him as a gentle, kind hearted kid with a real enthusiasm for learning, always mediating in arguments; never looking for a fight, courteous, humble – yadda, yadda. Not a fighting man then, in fact he was pretty much the spineless geek that he'd labelled him with on first sight. Definitely not someone you wanted backing you up in a hostile situation – not that Jackson was needed for that.

Jack's breath caught in his throat at the next paragraph. It was the longest paragraph in the file. His skimming eyes froze part way down and he started reading more carefully from the beginning of the paragraph.

Melburn and Claire Jackson killed by a falling cover stone at the New York Museum of Art in early '74. Jackson had witnessed his parents' deaths. The kid would have been – what – between six and eight years of age depending on his actual birth date. Damn, that would have been hard, no matter what the kids' age.

Jack had a momentary connecting stab of sympathy for a kid that had lost his parents from a father who had lost his son. His lips compressed into a hard line as he read on to find that Jackson's only living relative, his maternal grandfather, had _rejected_ the kid and left him to the foster care system. Talk about a kick in the teeth when you were down.

The psych evaluation report was brief and altogether uninteresting. The kid had developed a strong morals and an independant streak but was altogether well grounded despite his messed up childhood.

Catherine Langford's notes on the young man focussed on his academic life. The usual basic background check had been done, copies of his doctorates and photos of various foster families took up half the file space. She was quite glowing about his achievements. No wonder then that she'd gone hunting half way around the country to recruit him into what recently had been _her_ project.

Jack scanned on through the file finding nothing else useful. He picked up the phone, 'Send Jackson in.'

Jackson siddled into the room, clutching a coffee and some papers and looking well out of his comfort zone - or perhaps it was more that the kid was simply awkward. He looked like the kind of kid that would always be bumping into things or tripping over stuff. The long hair didn't help much either, making him look almost juvenile. Jackson settled into the chair opposite and pushed his paperwork across the table to Jack. 'Ahh, I filled in everything you guys wanted, Colonel O'Neill, although,' he chuckled a little nervously, 'It's not really doing much for my confidence about this trip to have to fill in a Last Will and Testament.

'Standard procedure,' said Jack brusquely. He glanced down at the will, not surprised to see that it was brief. Very brief, like the kid had no one at all. Suddenly, Jack wanted to get this meeting over with as quickly as he could. 'I just have a few questions about your background Jackson.'

Jackson pushed the glasses up his nose and nodded.

'Have you had any sort of self defence or martial arts training before?'

'What? Ahh, no. I was given a gift certificate for some martial arts classes once but I,' Jackson gave another short, out of place laugh, 'I never went.'

'Oh? Why?'

'Well, I might have hurt someone.'

Jack glanced up at that to check if the kid was pulling his leg.

Jackson flashed a nervous grin. 'Ahh, you see, I generally prefer to talk my way out of sticky situations. '

Jack felt an eyebrow lift and quickly bent to write notes on another form. 'What about weapons. Have you ever held a hand gun?'

'Oh, sure. I learned to shoot a gun about two years back or so. It's, ahh, useful for shooting snakes at archaeological dig sites, and carrying one also discourages any of the would be looters, not that I … well.' Jackson coughed into his sleeve, and took a sip of coffee.

Jack nodded and wrote more notes. 'Do you have any idea as to your current target accuracy rating?'

'What? No – I've only had to shoot at a snake once or twice. I never actually learned much besides the basics of how to fire one and how to clean one. I um, I'm not really all that fond of guns.'

Jack sighed softly and drew a line through what he had been writing, and started scribbling new notes. ' I'll take you out on the range in a while and do my own assessment as to your abilities before I assign you a weapon.'

'I'd really prefer …' began Jackson awkwardly.

Jack's pen froze on the paper and he looked up enquiringly.

'Look, I don't like guns and I'm not going to shoot at anyone so there's really no point.'

Jack straightened in his chair and he regarded the kid impatiently. 'You're about to travel to another _planet_, Jackson,' he said, speaking as if to a three year old. 'This isn't like traveling across the border to Canada, or going to Australia even. We have no idea what's there.'

Jackson looked away with a distinctly unhappy expression. 'I'm an archaeologist, _not_ a military goon.'

Jack fought hard to bite back the words sitting at the tip of his tongue. 'Look, you might need to defend yourself. A small calibre hand weapon …'

"I might shoot someone if I had a gun.'

'That's what they're _for_,' replied Jack with a touch of exasperation.

'That's … . No. Look, if you kill someone, they have nothing left, you've taken everything from them, they have no future at all, no hope whatsoever, _nothing_. I don't want to be responsible for that, I don't even want to _risk_ it. I _don't_ want to carry a gun.'

Jack had to wait for a long moment, his face set firmly, while images of Charlie swept through his head; his son with no future. For a second he wanted nothing more than to wring Jackson's scrawny neck until his blue eyes spilled out. He drew a slow steadying breath, and spoke with heavy sarcasm: 'You would prefer to go into an alien environment - totally unarmed?'

Jackson completely missed the sarcasm. He smiled a little with relief. 'Yeah, if that's okay …'

'And what if someone tries to kill you? What if it's a choice between your life and his. Do you let him kill you or do you try and kill him first?'

Jackson's arms wrapped around himself and his expression tightened a little. 'Well, I guess I'd try to defend myself, of course.' Then he frowned uncertainly as he thought about it, 'I … think.'

'You're not sure?' asked Jack incredulously.

'I don't think I could look myself in the mirror again if I killed someone,' murmured Daniel looking a little bewildered and actually distressed at the thought.

Jack's eyebrows lifted a little and he considered the man sitting in front of him carefully. He really _did_ mean what he'd said. Didn't the kid place any value on his own life? 'And what if one of your team mates is being threatened?'

Jackson shook his head, 'Well, I'd defend them to the best of my ability, of course.'

'To the best of your ability,' repeated Jack sarcastically, 'With _no_ self defence capabilities _or_ weapons of any kind.'

Jackson locked bright blue determined eyes with Jack. 'With all 140 pounds of me, Colonel.'

Jack was speechless with incredulity for almost thirty seconds straight. The kid didn't blink or so much as flinch at the look that Jack gave him. Most marines would have been wetting themselves under the gaze that he was shooting his way, but not this kid. Absolutely fearless. Only Charlie had ever been able to stare back at his scrowls without breaking into a sweat. Jack found himself clenching his fist until it hurt. He cleared his throat and toned down the scrowl. 'Right,' he murmured in the end. How had the kid done that? He'd almost reached across the table and strangled Jackson. Jack glared at his paperwork unseeingly. He'd have to be careful of Jackson. The kid had a way of getting under his skin. Jack took a moment to pull the full professional Colonel façade carefully back into place. By rights he should have the kid confined to Earth. A kid like him - unwilling to use a weapon and unable to otherwise defend himself - had no place going off world into an unknown but probably dangerous situation. But without him the whole mission would be scrubbed and Jack's chance at joining Charlie would go up in smoke too. Damn the kid to hell.

'So, ahh. You military guys have a lot to put up with,' said Jackson companionably. He took a quick gulp of coffee. 'Medical exams, paperwork, fitness assessments, _more_ paperwork, … . '

Jack stabbed a full stop with his pen. 'An assessment as to your capabilities with a hand gun will still need to be done. However, you'll be classed as an unarmed civilian consultant. A weapon will not be assigned to you unless an emergency arises, and in that case you'll be expected to follow orders to the letter even if it entails shooting something or someone. Since you insist on being unarmed you'll need an armed escort at all times. You'll be expected to stick with your escort 24/7, understood?' Jack glanced up from his paperwork to fix the kid with a stare that meant business.

Jackson nodded amiably, but his attention had drifted and he was looking around the almost bare room with a bored expression.

Jack could feel his jaw clench tight with the desire to grind his teeth together. The façade cracked a little again. The kid was clueless. He'd have the military guys beating on him if he didn't learn when to snap out a 'yessir' on demand. He'd need watching then – probably even protecting from some of the military hard noses on the team. They'd be on his back inside a minute if he kept up this weakling-geek-with-no-respect-for–the-military act.

'Your medical assessment has cleared you to go. I want you on the range in half an hour for your weapons capability assessment. Then you'll need to report to acquisitions for appropriate clothing, boots and pack. You'll be supplied with all the survival equipment you'll need, and you'll need to carry anything extra by yourself, so pack carefully. Departure time is 0600, that's 6a.m. for you. Be in the Gate room on time.' Jack scrawled a last sentence on the form and looked up with surprise to see that Jackson was still there, looking at him with his big blue Charlie-like eyes. 'Just do your job and stay out of the way Jackson,' snapped Jack harshly. 'Dismissed.'

Jackson stood quickly, bumping the table with his thighs. Jack's pen slid half way across the page. 'Ooops, sorry about that,' murmured Jackson. He gave a nervous half smile and hurried out of the interview room.

Jack looked at the mess on his form and with a sigh started writing out a fresh copy. It was easy to see why Jackson was getting under his skin. He reminded him of Charlie. Sure he was much older. Sure he wore glasses and had probably never even seen a ball game let alone handled a baseball before. It was that innocent-babe- in-the-woods thing. It was his tragic past and his gentleness; that and his total lack of fear in the face of Jack's worst scowl. Damn him for being so like Charlie.

Well hell. Jack stabbed a full stop and crossed the 't's on the form with ferocity. The kid was gonna have to fend for himself. Jack wasn't going to babysit the man. He'd probably be more trouble than he was worth and _so what_ if he reminded him of Charlie. He was only one kid. One geeky kid. Besides, Jack had a mark 1 nuke to babysit instead and a one way ticket to hell along with it.

_**Flash**_

His heart was pounding as he ran after the so called 'domesticated' creature running off with Jackson. Somehow Jackson had got his foot tangled in the things leach. Jack knew that he would have reacted the same way if any of the guys in his team had been dragged off like that, but he couldn't explain why he kept thinking of Charlie as he ran after Jackson. He couldn't explain why his heart almost stopped in his chest when Jackson's yelling had cut off abruptly after the creature had hauled him off the top of a dune and slammed him down at the bottom. He'd run faster then, with the familiar feeling of fear crushing at his soul.

Thankfully Jackson was coming around when they finally caught up to the creature. Jack had a few seconds to pull himself together and act cool. That's when he'd spotted the top of the structure over the dune. Jack could feel his heart sinking a little at the sight of all those people working a mine of some sort. Thousands of people, obviously not a threat to anyone with their thread bare rags and under fed faces. And then, through his binoculars he'd spotted a kid that had Charlie's face. Almost _exactly_ Charlie's face. Jack licked the sweat off of his lips and lowered the glasses. _Another_ kid that reminded him of Charlie.

And looking at the kid and all of those people, he realised with a sinking heart, that he couldn't use the bomb. He'd have to find another way to end himself.

_**Flash**_

Jack settled back in the tent space leant to him by Kasuf's people, and pulled out a cigarette. He was tired, bone tired, and the sand storm was still howling above the city.

The kid with Charlie's face peeked into his tent and watched him light up the cigarette. Jack looked at him – drinking in the Charlie like features. Except that Charlie was gone and this kid was named Skarra or something.

The kid was fascinated by the cigarette lighter and Jack tossed it to him to look at. He watched as the kids eyes grew wide when the lighter lit up. The kid – Skaara - pointed to the cigarettes and Jack let him have one. He knew that he shouldn't have let him touch them but he was caught like a spider in a web by the kids attempt to imitate him. Inside of him, the tightness around his gut that had been there since Charlie had died, loosened and relaxed. Despite his pain, he almost laughed as he watched the kid copy him and draw on the cigarette. Charlie used to copy him like that. Charlie had jet planes in his bedroom because he wanted to grow up and be a pilot like his dad. Jack turned his head away so that Skarra wouldn't see his pain and the next thing he knew, Skaara was picking up his automatic weapon.

'No!' yelled Jack, snatching at the weapon.

Skaara was out and running before Jack could calm down and explain. He remembered sitting there with his heart half way up his throat, and all he could think was thank God, this time he hadn't been too late.

_**Flash**_

More kids. Boys and girls. Lots of kids. But these ones weren't dressed in rags. They had embroidered loin clothes or dresses on and they escorted a richly dressed creature down to a throne.

It didn't take a genius to put all the facts together. This masked guy had set himself up as the God Ra. He'd stolen people – people from Earth to be his slaves. And he treated them as slaves too. He didn't care that they were starving. He obviously had the technology to improve the standard of living for Skaara's people and just as obviously didn't care a damn for anyone but himself.

He'd probably killed the rest of his team as well. He'd seen what those guards of his had done to Lieutenant Brown. Those stick weapons were damned brutal.

Jack watched as the masked guy settled himself onto his thrown. The first clue that he wasn't human was when he spoke with that double toned voice. But it wasn't until the mask retracted that Jack understood. He looked the guy – alien – in the eye and he knew that this creature had killed his men and was going to kill them both for good measure. He knew the kind of sadistic cruelty that this creature had in it and that it knew nothing of compassion or of anything else worthwhile.

Jack punched the bowed head of the guard beside him and snatched the stick weapon. It didn't take him more than a second to figure out how to fire the thing, and take down one of the guards.

Jackson was beside him and yelling incoherently. And the next few moments burned their way into his brain just like when he'd found Charlie's bleeding body. Except this time Jackson threw himself between him and another guard and took the shot that had been meant for him.

Jack vaguely remembered swinging the weapon around to take down the fake God but there were kids in the way. All the kids surrounding that alien thing wearing a human. Kids Charlie's age. He couldn't do it. And something struck him putting him out …. And his last thought was sorrow for Jackson – because he'd failed again.

_**Back**_

It all passed through his mind in only moments, standing chest deep in the water - filled prison.

Kowalski was giving him a report. 'There's only us left sir. I mean, _half_ the team that went through the Stargate are dead. What are we gonna do, sir?'

Jack was good at the scamming thing. He could pretend he was okay, pretend that he knew what to do. 'Take a look at the wall carvings around here and see if there are any places for toe and finger holds. We might be able to climb up and push that grating out of the way.'

'On it, sir' said Kowalski.

Jack rubbed gingerely at the egg sized lump on his head. In his mind he could see Jackson throwing himself in front of the blast that would have killed him. Over and over again he saw Jackson dying – to save _him_ from a blast that he would gladly have taken.

Instead, Jackson was dead. He'd seen the kid take a point blank direct hit in the gut – the same way Lieutenant Brown had. It blew him away that Jackson would do such a thing – for someone who was practically a stranger. In his head he ran over and over everything he'd said to the kid trying to figure out where and when Jackson had picked up this … this self sacrifice thing. It was crazy! But he remembered the interview with Jackson and how Jackson had told him face to face that he'd defend his team mates with his whole body. He hadn't realised that Jackson had meant it so literally. With a touch of guilt, he also remembered that he hadn't really been concentrating all that much over the file or the interview. Damn, Jackson had been just a kid – just like Charlie. It was his job to protect civilians, not the other way around! And it was his fault again. Another kid dead because he'd been too damned selfish to cancel the mission. He'd _known_ Jackson wouldn't defend himself. He'd known the kid shouldn't have been allowed off world with his won't-hurt-a-butterfly attitude. And now Jackson had died to save his own worthless hide. What had Jackson seen in him over the last few days that would make him do something like that?

Jack took a deep breath. He had a mission and people depending on him. He still had men to get out and an alien fake God to kill. Despite Skaara and his people, the mission was back on again. There was a definite threat and he had to blow the place to hell. He had to find a way to warn Skaara's people to run for it and he had to get the last of his team out far enough to survive.

Given their present situation, it was unlikely that he'd have the chance to do anything but blow the bomb, and even that was going to be tough. It wasn't the way it was supposed to go down, but he was still enough of a veteran military man to follow his orders and he had to give it his best shot.

Jack waded across to help search the prison walls for anything useful. That Ra thing needed to die – not only for killing Jackson and his men but for a list of bad stuff longer than his arm. He doubted that the thing would last long with its head blown off. If he could steal one of those stick weapons, he could kill the creep without having to risk any of the civilians. It would probably be a hell of a lot simpler than blowing up …

Jack's fingers froze against the wall. When had everything changed? When had he changed his mind about killing himself? Why was he suddenly reluctant to die. Yeah, profound – but there it was. He didn't _want_ to blow himself away anymore. Didn't mean he wouldn't do it though – he still had a mission. But when had he changed his mind about suicide?

Jack ran his hands over the garishly decorated walls and thought about it hard. Yeah, he still missed Charlie like he would miss his leg or his heart. But … it was something about Jackson throwing away his own life to save him. A young man with a laser bright future ahead of him and the smarts to take him anywhere that he wanted had _sacrificed_ himself to save one Jack O'Neill. It was just … incredible. What had made Jackson do such a thing? Had he maybe seen something in Jack worth saving? Worth sacrificing his own life for?

Damn, that was a scary thought. But what would it say about him if he turned around now and threw away the sacrifice that Jackson had made for him. Jack found himself clenching his jaw until his teeth ached. He had an obligation now. He had to make Jackson's sacrifice worth while. And he could do it now because it was about Daniel and Skaara and other kids and how so many of them reminded him of Charlie in some way. But ultimately it was because of Jackson and all that he'd given up to save one Jack O'Neill.

He sighed then. He had made his decision. Come hell or high water – or aliens faking Gods, he was going to fight for the Charlie's out there. He was going to make one Daniel Jackson's sacrifice worth while.

'All right kids,' said Jack. 'The walls are a waste of time. Who wants to try balancing on my shoulders and reaching up to that grate?'


End file.
